Fall
by plenoptic
Summary: "Lying with Altair Ibn La'Ahad in the snow, Malik wondered how he'd gotten himself into such a predicament. It had started with such an innocent fishing trip, and now..." Part two of a series, but can stand alone. AltXMal, slash warnings.


**Fall**

_Plenoptic_

**One more part to go!**

* * *

Lying half-naked with Altaϊr Ibn La'Ahad in the snow, covered only by a long coat, his back rubbing up against the tree, Malik wondered how in the hell he'd gotten himself into such a predicament. It had started with such an innocent fishing trip, and now…

* * *

"Let's go fishing."

Malik lifted his head slowly, arching a dark eyebrow at the assassin Grandmaster. Altaϊr stood across the desk from him, a fishing rod propped comically on his broad shoulder and his empty fist braced on his hip.

"_Why_?" Malik asked at length, his eyebrow climbing higher and higher into his hairline. "It's the middle of winter."

"Because I have the want and the means," Altaϊr replied simply, and Malik fought to resist the urge to smash his head into his desk out of sheer exasperation. When Altaϊr wanted something, everything else be damned, Altaϊr _wanted_ something.

"The nearest lake is up the mountain."

"We are young and spry."

"It's covered in ice."

"We will break it, then."

"Get someone else to go with you."

"I want _you_ to come with me."

Malik cast his gaze away uneasily. Being alone with Altaϊr was dangerous. They'd proved that again and again since that fateful kiss on the top of the tower. Since wedding Maria, Altaϊr had brought their fling to a halt, but neither could quite put the memories of their trysts out of their minds, and both knew it.

"I would like to spend an afternoon with a dear friend," Altaϊr said, almost hesitantly. "I would like for things to be the way they were."

"I'm…busy."

Altaϊr grinned, his eyes shining, and Malik was hooked. "You can be busy later."

So they donned their coats, told Maria they were leaving, and began the long trek up the mountain north of Masyaf in search of a lone frozen lake. It wasn't like Altaϊr to go looking for a _lake_, of all things, Malik thought with a dry smile; there was no way the Grandmaster would go near a lake that wasn't frozen, for fear of drowning. No wonder he'd waited until winter fell to acquire a passion for fishing.

"I think I would like to expand our Order."

Malik lifted his head, blinking in surprise at Altaϊr's back. They'd been laboring up the steep mountain face in silence for over an hour, but clearly Altaϊr's mind had been whirring away the entire time. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I want to expand beyond Masyaf—beyond Jerusalem and Acre, even," Altaϊr explained, pausing to sit upon a large rock, wiping his brow on his sleeve and turning his dark gaze upon his best friend. Malik sat down upon the cold ground, drinking deeply of the cool air. "Maybe up north, in the lands from where the fur traders come."

Malik hummed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "That would be your choice to make, Mentor."

Altaϊr frowned, shaking his head. "No, Malik. You are my advisor and my friend. I want your honest opinion. Should we expand? Should we spread our influence?"

Malik turned his head, casting his gaze out to the assassins' keep, and to the tiny village of Masyaf beyond. Cheerful voices rang through the cold air, carried up the mountain from the stony fortress. Malik had only lived outside of Masyaf once, during his time as the Bureau leader in Jerusalem, and he had missed his home dearly then. Altaϊr had been his only comfort, though he would never admit that, both then and now.

"Masyaf is a miraculous place," he said at last, closing his eyes and enjoying the fresh caress of the wind. He didn't notice Altaϊr's dark eyes upon him. "It is our home. It is the only place where our people can live in safety. We never fear the Templar blade within the walls of Masyaf."

"But?" Altaϊr prompted him softly.

"But…the Templar blade _exists_ outside Masyaf, whether we fear it or not," Malik went on quietly. "You are right, Altaϊr. We cannot hide forever in these mountains. Al Mualim kept us caged here, like angry animals, like living weapons to be deployed at his will. But even assassins are people, and we are people of this world." He opened his eyes and turned back to Altaϊr, his expression solemn. "Perhaps it is time we _become_ a part of it."

Altaϊr nodded, his gaze, distant and sad, settling upon Masyaf, tracing its angles. Malik watched the eagle with a tightening in his heart. Altaϊr was so startlingly beautiful in his nostalgia.

"Let us continue," Altaϊr suggested, getting to his feet and helping Malik to his. "I promised Maria I'd bring home dinner."

"You are lucky that you have a woman to cook for you," Malik lamented, deciding to keep pace and stay at Altaϊr's side rather than lag behind him. "And to warm your bed, for that matter. My chambers are awfully lonely at night."

Altaϊr turned his head, looking at his friend. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Malik blinked at him in confusion for several moments before he realized to what Altaϊr was referring. He pointedly averted his gaze, casting his mind around for a casual dismissal of the apology, but nothing came to mind.

So he said nothing, and they climbed on.

/ page break

Altaϊr's hydrophobia reared its ugly head enthusiastically; he couldn't venture more than two feet from the shore. He made for a comical site, crouched over the little hole he'd carved in the ice with his blade, holding the fishing rod in both hands with a look of ultimate concentration on his face. Malik made himself comfortable leaning against a large tree, a map open on his lap.

"There is a land east of here with a multitude of new peoples," he called to Altaϊr, tracing the Asiatic landmass with a forefinger. "I hear tales of barbarians who terrorize the people. Perhaps our Order could find a foothold there."

"I have asked Maria about that," Altaϊr replied, giving his rod an experimental tug. He was disappointed to find no resistance and resigned himself to another hour of fruitless fishing. "She suggests we go north and then west, to her homeland."

"Hm." Malik turned his gaze to the lands north of Jerusalem, following the map past the long mountain chain to the mysterious lands in the west. "I shall speak with her about it. I do not know enough about those lands."

"Europe?"

"Is that what they are called?"

"According to her."

"Europe," Malik repeated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His eyes alighted on a small section of land branching off of the European subcontinent that reached far into the Mediterranean, almost to Africa. "There is much of this world left to be explored. I must admit, the prospect that our Order could lead that exploration is…appealing. I would like for us to leave this world a better and more enlightened place." When Altaϊr said nothing, Malik lifted his head, watching the Grandmaster's hunched back with wary eyes. "…The Apple foretold of the expansion of our Order, didn't it. That's why you're thinking about it now."

Altaϊr got to his feet, brushing a thin layer of snow from his trousers, and turned to look at his friend. "Malik, I wonder if you could make us a fire? The cold is getting to me."

"It is cold," Malik agreed, folding up the map and hauling himself up. "Alright, a fire it is. It might take me a while to find dry wood."

"Thank you. I'm going to go out further onto the ice and see what I can find—perhaps I will have something for us to eat when you return."

"Don't fall in," Malik replied jokingly, and pulled his coat tighter about his body before setting off into the woods.

The forest lost all of its ancient, friendly demeanor as soon as the lake was out of view. Growing in a land with little water, the trees were gnarled and sinister-looking, reaching out to tug at Malik's hood and coat as he pushed his way across the frozen ground. The dirt and fallen branches were encrusted with snow, though were not yet wet—it had not warmed enough to melt the snow that had fallen in the night. Finding suitable branches was easy enough, but Malik quickly grew frustrated with trying to find proper kindling. All of the smaller debris was buried beneath a hard layer of settling permafrost, and it was after a long and hard search that Malik finally decided that they'd just have to make do with what he'd found.

The trek back to the lake felt longer than the trek away, and against his better judgment—for assassins should _always_ have clear heads—he allowed his thoughts to wander. Altaϊr's apology on the trail had left him feeling unnerved; he had long since written off their fling as just that and attempted to push it out of his mind, but there was no denying the lingering attraction he still felt for the Grandmaster. How could he not still harbor feelings for the idiot novice? They had grown so close in the years since the death of Al Mualim, closer than brothers—closer, even, than he and Kadar had been.

And the way Altaϊr still _looked_ at him sometimes, with those dark, flashing eyes, like a tempest storm—just the thought made Malik's throat and heart tighten with want. They had spent one night together in Altaϊr's room, curled together under the same heavy blanket in front of a dying fire. Those kisses had been nothing short of magical…

Trapped in his memories, Malik failed to notice the mangled tree root jutting up out of the frozen ground, and it wasn't until he'd landed face-first upon the ground that he decided he oughtn't reminisce and walk at the same time. Pushing himself back to his feet, grumbling, he ploughed on through the tree line that surrounded the lake.

"Altaϊr!" he called, stepping around the tree that had been his perch before and raising a hand against the bright afternoon sun when it reflected off the fresh snow. "I found as much as I could, so we'll just have to—"

Malik froze. Altaϊr wasn't crouched on the ice, nor was he prowling the banks, nor was he standing in the clearing, gazing down at Masyaf. Malik turned about in a circle, frowning. The Grandmaster's coat and fishing rod were absent—had he wandered off, or headed back to the fortress, perhaps? He wouldn't leave without telling Malik, and he certainly wouldn't return home while his friend was scrounging for firewood…

He turned his gaze back to the lake, and something caught his eye. It appeared that one part of the lake was reflecting the sun's light differently than the rest, as if the ice there was a different thickness.

As if it were thinner.

As if it had just frozen back over.

"_No_," Malik breathed, his eyes widening. No—even Altaϊr wouldn't be so stupid as to actually— "He didn't really fall—"

But his feet were already moving, his arm releasing the pile of logs, and he skidded across the frozen surface of the lake, his breath burning in his lungs. He dropped to his knees by the patch of thin ice, brushing away the powder snow that had fallen during his absence, peering into the dark depths of the water below.

A flash of white.

"_Altaϊr!_" He ejected his hidden blade into the ice at once, splitting it open once more. Water sloshed out of the open hole, spreading across the ice and soaking his pants, but Malik continued to hack at the ice, his eyes locked onto the swirl of white robes hovering just below the surface of the water.

There was nothing for it. Malik couldn't possibly swim in these frigid waters—it was hard enough with only one arm, and drowning himself wouldn't help Altaϊr in the least. Panicked, unthinking, Malik thrust an arm into the water, seized the first handful of robes he came to, and pulled.

Perhaps the panic and the stress of the emergency had imbued him with strength he didn't really possess, or maybe he really was just stronger than he thought. Whatever the reason, and much to his surprise, Altaϊr came up. Malik hauled him up and out of the water with three might tugs, leaving both assassins sprawled across the ice, Malik panting and gasping for air.

"You idiot!" he shouted, getting to his knees and turning his furious gaze upon his friend. "You complete moron! Why did you move out into the middle of the damn lake? You nearly drowned for a damn—"

The assassin halted in his tirade, his brow furrowing. Altaϊr wasn't arguing back. He wasn't moving. He wasn't even _breathing_.

"Dammit," Malik breathed, lunging forward and lowering his ear to the Grandmaster's mouth. No breath. Fear shot like the crack of a whip through Malik's entire being, and he brought his fist down against Altaϊr's chest, hammering one, two, three blows against his sternum. He grabbed a handful of hair—this would be so much easier with two hands, dammit!—hauled Altaϊr's head back, and pressed their mouths together.

_I'm sorry, Altaϊr_. He breathed, coming up for air before lowering his mouth, breathing again. Inhale. Exhale. Breathing for Altaϊr. Beat his chest. Breathe. _I wanted to kiss you again, but I didn't want it to be like this_. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. How long had he been at this? _I shouldn't have left you. I'm sorry._

And then the Grandmaster coughed, his body convulsing, and Malik drew back just as Altaϊr rolled over, water coming up from his lungs with choking gasps.

"Thank Allah," Malik said weakly, reaching his hand out and running his fingers through Altaϊr's soft hair, tears brimming in his eyes as he watched his friend hack water onto the ice. "Altaϊr…it's all right…"

Altaϊr's shudders halted after several long, tense minutes, and he went still, his body quivering atop the ice. It was with a huge effort that Malik managed to pull the Grandmaster onto his back, carrying him across the lake to set him down gently at the base of the great tree.

Malik paused, wiping sweat from his brow, never taking his anxious gaze off of his friend. Altaϊr's clothes were soaked, sticking to his skin and freezing together—being frozen alive was just as bad as drowning under the ice.

"I'm sorry for this," Malik murmured, moving closer and hesitantly undoing the clasps of Altaϊr's sodden cloak. "I don't know if you can hear me, but help me if you can, we have to get you out of these clothes…"

Again Malik cursed his lack of a second hand—undressing a fully grown, unconscious man with only one was an infuriating task—but after some time and no small amount of agitation he managed to get Altaϊr unclothed. Malik hastily covered him with his own cloak, which had miraculously stayed dry during the rescue, and braced his friend against the tree before setting to work on the fire.

Thank Allah and all above that Maria was expecting them back that evening—if they missed curfew she'd know something was wrong. It saved Malik the impossible task of dragging Altaϊr's frozen ass back down the mountain. If he could get a fire going that produced a lot of smoke, their comrades would know where to find the wayward pair and, with any luck, they'd be snug and warm at home by morning.

The sun hung low on the horizon by the time Malik had a fire going, and the night air was beginning to sting against his skin even through his robes. Altaϊr remained unconscious at the base of the tree, though his eyes fluttered open every one and a while, and his breath had become low and steady. The only problem was that he was cold—his skin was freezing to Malik's touch, and his wet hair had caked beneath a thin layer of frost.

Malik sat close to his friend, warming his numb toes by the fire, praying that the heat would reach the Grandmaster. Night had fallen before real fear set in—at this rate, Altaϊr really would freeze to death before morning and help arrived. It wasn't until the first stars appeared in the sky that Malik resolved to do what he knew he should have done hours ago.

Resigned to his misery, Malik hesitantly disrobed, leaving only his trousers on—they were wet from the lake water, but there was no way in all of damnation he was going to place his naked body against Altaϊr's here and now.

"We're never going to speak of this again, understand?" he growled, lifting the edge of the cloak and sidling in alongside his friend. Altaϊr groaned unintelligibly, his head lolling bonelessly to the side to fall against Malik's shoulder. The Dai paused, taking a few deep, steadying breaths before pulling the cloak around both of them. He shivered, goose bumps breaking out down his back when Altaϊr's bare chest brushed against his own.

Damn it. He was _not_ going to molest an unconscious man, he was _not_ getting turned on by this, he was _not_ pulling Altaϊr closer—

And Altaϊr was _not_ stirring, and lifting his head, and breathing in Malik's ear— "_Open your mouth._"

Lying half-naked with Altaϊr Ibn La'Ahad in the snow, covered only by a long coat, his back rubbing up against the tree, Malik wondered how in the hell he'd gotten himself into such a predicament. It had started with such an innocent fishing trip, and now…

Tongue met tongue before lips met lips. One hand worked its way through Malik's hair, dragging his head closer so that Altaϊr could devour his mouth. His body shifted, thighs opening to straddle the Dai's hips, and Malik hissed at the friction between their groins, already swollen with want.

"Altaϊr," he gasped thinly, trying to piece together words around the tongue briskly invading his mouth, "we—shouldn't—"

"Malik," Altaϊr murmured, lowering his mouth to latch his teeth around his lover's throat, "I cannot hold back anymore."

"Dammit, Altaϊr, this is your fault," Malik snarled, tipping his head back and allowing his eyes to fall closed. "If you hadn't married Maria—"

"I wouldn't be loving you at the base of a tree on a mountain after falling into a frozen lake?" Altaϊr prompted, chuckling lowly. "I'm sorry, Malik…haven't you ever wanted what you couldn't have?"

Malik looked down, cupping his hand beneath Altaϊr's jaw and lifting the Grandmaster's face to his own. "Yes," he murmured, running his tongue over the assassin's swollen lower lip, tasting that intoxicating heat.

Malik hadn't expected sin to taste so sweet. There was surely no greater sin than for a man to love a woman's husband, but there was no higher heaven than to lie in the snow in Altaϊr's arms. It would have taken a thousand hands to hold Altaϊr as close as Malik wanted him, but having only one, the Dai made do, dragging his fingers through Altaϊr's hair, leaving teasing touches against his chest, running his fingertips down the tantalizing curve of the Grandmaster's lower back. Altaϊr responded just as he had over a year ago, grunting and groaning his way through every touch and every heated kiss. His hips were restless, grinding his naked passion against Malik's clothed need while his mouth dropped panting kisses against his lover's.

"You're energetic for a man who nearly drowned," Malik murmured, grimacing and tightening his lower back as two fingers swiftly invaded him. "A little warning would be appreciated next time…"

"I couldn't help myself," Altaϊr replied simply, his fingers swiftly undoing the ties of Malik's breeches, grinning at Malik's moan, breathless with anticipation. "You are…absolutely delicious, _habibi_."

The eagle leaned forward, swooped down upon Malik's shocked mouth and thrust his tongue past unsuspecting lips. Incredible, really, what a simple endearment could do to a man.

"Altaϊr…!"

Delicious, the way Malik mewled his name. Intoxicating, exhilarating, unlike anything he'd ever heard before. He dragged the Dai closer, and ravaged his mouth, devoured him, leaving hot, angry bites against flushed skin.

"_Altaϊr….!"_

Malik's voice sounded so far off now, so very far away. There was nothing but them, nothing but the sweet friction of body upon body, nothing but the hand he slipped down the front of Malik's damp trousers, taking hold of that swollen need in his palm, swallowing Malik's sigh, his _moan_, of relief…

"Mentor!"

"Grandmaster!"

Hn. He would have preferred _habibi_, reciprocation was nice, but whatever Malik wanted to call him was fine. Perhaps he had a fetish for domination? Altaϊr could work with that…

"_Baba!_"

The last call stopped him cold—colder than he already was, even with the passion and scent of near-sex between them—and just as soon as Altaϊr was scrambling backwards, Malik was shoving him away, both gasping for air. The sounds of the search party were coming closer, crashing through the thin trees and underbrush, coming toward the lake. Altaϊr's stomach dropped. Those cries had been from his wife and child and comrades, not from Malik…

"Play dead," Malik hissed, beckoning him back toward him. "Hurry!"

Altaϊr caught on at once, sagging against Malik's upper body and doing his very best to look unconscious, like he had gone directly from frozen lake to sleeping upon Malik with _nothing_ in between—

It was Darim who found them first, wrestling through the undergrowth ahead of his mother, his nose and cheeks red with the cold, short brown hair speckled with fresh snow. He surveyed the lake briefly, with the eyes of the eagle, before his gaze fell upon the two men huddled—oh so innocently—beneath the tree.

"Baba!" he cried, short legs carrying him at breakneck speed around the edge of the lake. "Baba, _Baba!_"

"Darim," Malik soothed, reaching out to catch the boy as the Grandmaster's son fell sobbing against his chest. "Shh, Baba's all right, he fell into the lake, he's such a novice…where is your mother?"

Sniffling, Darim pointed toward the trees, and Maria emerged a moment later, flanked by several frightened underlings, still calling out for their mentor.

"There he is!" Maria laughed, coming up short before the men and running a hand through her hair, tousled by the chilly wind. "No, don't tell me—he fell through the ice?"

"Teach him to swim," Malik grumped, looking appropriately affronted at being found with his stupid friend cradled against his chest. "Next time, I'm not stripping down even to save his life."

Maria giggled, crouching down to run her fingers through Altaϊr's short brown locks, her eyes softening as she watched him 'sleep.' "Thank you, Malik. You're a good friend. To both of us."

Malik blanched, guilt rising up like bile in the back of his throat. For one moment, he wanted to tell her all—about that day on the top of the tower, about what he and Altaϊr had just done—and nearly done—about the feelings he'd been cradling in the innermost recesses of his heart since he'd found Altaϊr slumbering that hot night in Jerusalem. But Altaϊr was so warm against his body, so alive, so full of vigor that existed in no other man on Allah's world, and Malik couldn't quite let go of the desperation aching in his very being.

When he replied, it was in hollow tones, the sound a man makes when he is trying to ignore the warm breath of his beloved upon his neck. "You're welcome."

* * *

**I know, I know, Alty is horrible for cheating on Maria, and after Darim is born, no less! I don't support adultery. It's fanfiction. You'll be okay, I promise.**


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